Page 21 of The Duchess Curse
“My guess is,” he mumbled, “that is not your first poisoned epistle.”
“Oh, hardly.”
“How many.”
Down the stairs and out the door. He stopped to speak to Mr. Grant, who still looked fresh as he had yesterday, though he showed no signs of having left.
“Guard the building,” Braxton ordered. “Can you get other Shadows?”
Grant nodded. “Already on their way.”
“I want one at each entrance and another at her door at all times.”
Guin didn’t wait to see if Grant agreed. She sailed down the street.
Braxton, of course, caught up easily. “How many letters?”
“Lost track. Oh, do stop growling and glowering, and see if you can keep up.”
He did keep up, all the way to Bond Street where she bought five new pairs of very expensive gloves.
“The duke, of course, will pay,” she said before grinning brightly up at him. “I do not feel like using my allowance.”
He opened an account with the shop, then she dragged him westward.
Once he realized where they were going, he said, “We should stay at the Mayfair mansion. It’s safer.”
“I don’t see how.” She did but hated to admit it.
“Whoever is trying to kill you knows where you live. They won’t expect you to suddenly move to Mayfair and live with a duke.”
She quickened her pace. “I’ll live where I please.”
“The queen tasked me with keeping you alive and—”
“Your voice changes sometimes… Did you know that?”
“Fuck.”
“Really?” She stopped, her skirts swinging about her legs. “Your changing voice displeases you that much?”
Oh, she wished she could see beyond the placid glamour. Something told her he was steaming with rage. Good. If she could irritate him enough, he might be safe from her.
“Where are we going?” he asked, upper crust, well-educated British tones firmly in place.
“Bloomsbury.”
After several seconds, he said, “Lady Fordham?”
“You are clever, aren’t you? How did you know I’m acquainted with her?”
“Because I’m acquainted with you.”
“And I thought we were strangers. Well, at least now you can spy on me knowing your nefarious activities are sanctioned by the state.”
“There is that.”
They arrived at Bloomsbury without the sort of event she usually ran into—daggers and pistols and coaches waiting to take her who knew where. She rang the bell of her friend’s terrace and a dog bellowed beyond the door.
